


For Your Eyes Only

by Captain_Loki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek accidentally discovers Stiles' past time includes uploading his sexual exploits to the internet</p><p>spoilers alert: it ends with sex</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Your Eyes Only

Derek loves his pack. He loves the ragtag bunch of them fighting and bickering, rough housing playfully, taking up space in the small loft, stealing food like thieves and never remembering to put milk on the grocery list. He loves the hell out of his pack, but he can’t help but be slightly gratified when they head off to school in the fall, opting to live in the dorms on campus.

He’s finally grown accustomed to living alone again: with actual walls and a roof and better…a door with a lock and pretty decent wi-fi that Stiles hooked up for him because Derek still has issues mastering his damn cell phone sometimes (where the fuck the speaker phone is he has no idea).

A quiet, empty loft means he has endless hours of uninterrupted time to peruse porn sites on his laptop for however long he wants, whenever he wants and best, wherever he wants (hours, the middle of the goddamn afternoon, on his couch, and in nothing but a pair of worn in cotton boxer briefs). Derek gets bored easily, he has to admit, especially when he’s cruising for something perfect and it isn’t a desperate situation. Now, though? With time? He catalogues carefully.

He has a couple of studios he’s especially fond of but sometimes he can’t get past bad acting and terrible plot scenarios so he sticks to amateur sites, particularly if he’s feeling in the mood for something specific, or kinky. He specifies ‘most popular’ in his search parameters and he lets his cursor hover over a thumbnail that looks intriguing, uploaded by a user named Redhood95. It looks like a solo video and he clicks it, settles his laptop across his thighs and slinks down more comfortably in his seat.

The lighting is low but not dark, and the quality is surprisingly good for what Derek usually gets on these sites. The guy in the video is wearing a pair of bright red ‘amazing Spiderman’ briefs and he’s pale and lean, long lines of toned muscle. His face is cropped carefully out of the shot. He’s kneeling against the bed, dark navy blue and green striped duvet cover beneath him, the light shining behind him back lights him in an almost eerie way, lamp settled on the corner of a pale wood desk with a large dent on its corner.

Derek can see what looks like a Pink Floyd poster on the wall behind the bed, but his attention shifts focus pretty quickly when the guy hooks long, slender fingers into the waistband of the briefs and tugs them down, erection bobbing down and then up as he slides his underwear down his thighs and off, settling back slightly on the bed.

The camera goes out of focus for a second before it refocuses, and Derek watches, calm patience and no real rush to get started himself as Redhood95 starts to jerk himself off. Derek can feel his own dick hardening in his boxers and he presses a palm to himself, rubbing himself slowly, not quite enough to bring himself off as he watches. Redhood reaches around the desk beside him, and comes back with a bottle of lube which he uses to slick his cock up with, it’s flushed red and hard, shiny and wet, thick vein standing out on the underside as he spans a large hand up and down his length, hard and deliberate. He’s cut and long, probably at least seven or eight inches with a sizeable girth, enough that Derek thinks his jaw would start to ache pleasurably around it.

He lets himself imagine it, wishes he could see the guy’s face because he can hear now the sound of his pleasure, soft moans and stuttered breathes as his hand moves faster and faster before slowing to a teasing pace and starting over, again and again. Derek is leaking precome into his boxer briefs now, and he’s thinking about taking care of it, turned on, ready. He doesn’t though, watches as Redhood works himself up until he climaxes, left hand pawing at his balls, rolling them as his right hand works at his cock. He comes with a muffle sort of grunt, spurting across the pale skin of his chest, down his abs, fluttering with his orgasm.

Derek watches three more videos and comes twice in one afternoon.

He becomes a frequent Redhood95 viewer, he watches each video at least twice, installs a script to download three of his favorites with only the slightest hesitation of shame. Redhood95 has at least a dozen videos, all solo save for two of them. These feature an olive skinned brunette with no qualms about showing his face on camera, sucking Redhood off slowly, long, messy, deep throating blow jobs that have him writhing against the sheets. ‘Randy’, as the brunette is named in the description, lavishes at Redhood’s cock, and Derek doesn’t blame him. In one of the videos Randy slicks his fingers up and pushes Redhood’s leg out of the way, fucks him open while he swallows him down.

Derek’s favorite video though is a solo. Redhood starts by stripping slowly, and Derek’s always gotten off on being teased. Tiny peeks here and there before Redhood turns away from the camera, spreads his legs on the bed to get a better stance and pushes his boxer briefs down around his thighs and spreads himself.

He angles his ass towards the camera, just the slightest arch of his back, and it’s the first time Derek’s seen him like this, goes through the entire album of videos in chronological order, like he’s watching a documentary on Redhood’s sexual awakening. He thinks it’s probably weird but then there’s the pink puckered asshole staring at him so he mostly shuts his higher brain functioning off in favor of watching Redhood fingering himself open on camera for the first time.

He goes slow, works himself open until he’s collapsing on his elbows, thrusting his hips back and forth. his cock hangs heavy  between his legs, precome leaking in a steady strand, his balls twitching in their sac as he fucks in and out with one, then two and then finally three fingers deep inside himself.

Derek strips his own cock as he watches, licks a palm because he can’t reach his own bottle of lube without moving. He doesn’t really need it though, swirls his own leaking mess over the head of his dick as he jerks himself off in hard, even strokes. He times it, so his cock twitches, jerks in his grip, shooting messy over his hand as Redhood comes hard into the sheets below him, seemingly untouched, ass clenching around his wet fingers as he pulls them free.

 

Derek takes a porn break when the pack comes home for the more traditional ‘winter’ break, and he shelves his habit for the month that they’re home. There are too many bodies bustling in an out of the loft unannounced and too much ability to eavesdrop for Derek to really have ever gotten comfortable jerking off with everyone around. There are quickies when he gets the chance but other than that…

In early January, when they go back to school though, Derek checks Redhood95’s porn channel to discover a new video has been uploaded. Derek pretty much clicks the download button before he’s even a minute in, because this isn’t another solo vid, or even a low lit blow job.

The room is different, the camera angled at a larger, full sized bed, the quality a little shoddier but there’s another man in the shot, bigger than Redhood, tan skin and broad muscle, cock already hard when the video starts. He watches the other man push Redhood against the wall knees braced on the bed as he moves to rim him, back arched and ass out to give him access.

Derek watches as he bites bruising kisses into the soft pale flesh of Redhood’s ass, licks over his hole, slaps at a round cheek while Redhood groans, thrusting back into him, seeking out more. After about a minute of rimming the other man straightens, grasps at Redhood around the middle and pushes him down onto the bed, spreads him for the camera and slicks him up, pushes two fingers roughly inside and fucks him open.

Then he slides on a condom, drips lube over his flushed cock and presses in. The sound that rents through Redhood has Derek’s cock twitching in his palm, leaking against the curve of his hand where he has his fist tightening around the length of himself. The man fucks Redhood in hard, quick strokes, the sound of slicked skin on skin, thighs slapping against the flush of Redhood’s ass, who moans and writhes against the bed, fucking back onto the other guy’s dick.

They switch position two or three times, and Derek gets a side view, the ripple of Redhood’s ass as he’s pounded into, the way he thrusts back onto the dick, the way it disappears as he gets fucked. The angle switches and Derek gets a view of the top’s ass, balls low, cock disappearing into Redhood’s hole, stretched around him, moans loud and desperate as the minutes tick by until he lets out a loud, ‘fuck yes,’ and comes hard, pulling Derek over the edge with him.

 

It’s a few weeks before Spring break and Stiles begs Scott and Derek to come rescue him from boredom. Stiles chose to go to school a few hours further north than most of the pack and Derek still hadn’t made a trip up to see him, yet. He swings by Scott’s campus and they make the drive, arriving in the late afternoon.

Stiles lets them into the building, immediately pulls Scott into a bone crushing hug, who slings Stiles over his shoulder and carries him the rest of the way back towards Stiles’ room. Derek watches in amusement as Stiles is deposited on one of the narrow beds in the small room.

“Dude!” Scott cries. “Your room is way bigger than Isaac’s and mine,” he complains.

“Yeah but you guys puppy pile all together, though, right?” Stiles teases and Scott punches him on the arm.

“Where’s the bathroom, I’ve had to pee for like an hour, Derek wouldn’t stop,” Scott says. Derek gives him an indignant look and Stiles laughs, “it’s down the hall,” and he wrestles Scott into the hallway with a wave towards Derek.

“Kay,” Derek huffs. He looks around the room, the beat up old dorm furniture and the sterelite containers crammed with crap, empty soda cans and protein bar wrappers litter the floor along with dirty clothes and old towels. Derek sits down on one of the beds, it smells like Stiles, he thinks, though there’s an odor that sort of permeates everything.

He picks at the navy blue comforter, a thread loose from one of the narrow green stripes running across it and looks around the rest of the room. His brow furrows as his eye catches the lamp on the corner of the desk being used as a makeshift bedside table. He reasons he must have walked past a similar lamp in every Target or Walmart he’d been too in the last couple of years. But then his eye lands on the chip taken out of the side of the desk, and he runs his fingers along it, something clenching in his chest and his stomach.

He jumps off the bed and stares at it in wild disbelief, looks up at the wall opposite to see a Pink Floyd poster tacked a little crookedly there. “Holy shit,” he offers the room at large. He backs up towards the end of the bed, crouches a little low and raises his hand to crop out the rest of the room, index and thumb forming a crude frame as he crouches at a comparable angle and…

“What are you doing?” Stiles’ voice from the door makes him jump, and he catches himself before he falls, drops his arms towards his boots. “Tying my shoe,” Derek says and Stiles gives him a weird sort of look but shakes his head of it, collapses on the bed he’d just vacated. _Maybe it’s his roommate,_ Derek reasons with himself. But just as the thought forms Scott comes barging back into the room with a rather tall, dark skinned boy who Stiles introduces as, “Greg, my roommate.”

“Of course,” Derek nods. He stares at Stiles who crowds into his space and Derek backs up, freezes and Stiles’ brows knit, a little uncertain and Derek forces himself to relax, pull him into a slightly tight hug. _Oh God_ , he thinks, _I’ve seen you finger yourself open right there, there’s probably a bottle of lube in your desk drawer right now_.

“You okay, Derek?” Scott asks, staring at him in concern. “You sound like you’re about to have a heart attack,” he says pointedly, lowers his voice. Stiles glances between the two of them but Greg doesn’t seem to notice as he collapses at his desk chair across the room.

“I’m fine,” Derek says, “great.”  Stiles smirks at him, raises a long, slender hand to run through his hair and Derek watches it, blanching slightly.

Derek is pretty sure he does an absolutely terrible job acting nonchalant in the face of this sudden new world order. It’s not as though Derek wasn’t aware just yesterday that Stiles is attractive but he was always the kind of attractive of a kid sister’s friend or a really hot cousin, like you know objectively they’re good looking but there’s so much else you can’t really get past.

Stiles was always just _Stiles_. He’s _Stiles_. He repeats it in his head with growing desperation as the day goes on. Stiles squirting ketchup all over his t-shirt, knocking over a glass of water with a flailing hand, chewing his straw to smithereens…

It’s _Stiles_. He thinks it when Stiles lets one rip on the car ride back to the dorm from the restaurant across campus and Scott gags and rolls the windows down.

 _Holy fuck it_ is _Stiles_ he confirms when Stiles strips off his stained t-shirt to tug another fresh one over his head and Derek sees the pattern of moles dotting his hip like the belt of Orion.

Derek is shifty for the rest of the afternoon, the campus tour and a game of Frisbee out on the quad. He’s distracted enough he gets hit in the head with the edge of the disk and his vision whites out for a split second. Stiles jogs over to ask if he’s okay, gives him a look of concern and Derek gapes at him, opens his mouth to…say something stupid, probably, and tactful like, blurting out his Queertube handle.

But Stiles gets distracted by something over Derek’s shoulder and he’s smiling and waving and Derek turns to see a tall olive skinned man jogging over, grin of equal measure on his familiar face. Derek’s skin heats, something in him flares red he has to quell down. His eyes narrow as the man comes closer, Scott coming over to see what’s up.

“Hey, guys this is—“ Stiles starts.

“ _Randy_ ,” Derek finishes with a mumbled grunt under his breath. The man starts in surprise, huffs out a laugh and shakes his head.

“Uh—my name’s Brian?” He says. Stiles gives Derek a critical look and Derek flushes slightly, snaps his mouth shut.

“Why would you—“ Stiles laughs softly in confusion before a look of dawning comprehension and abject horror crosses his face, which goes instantly pale and falls about a mile.

“You okay, dude?” Scott asks, when he catches up to the group.

Derek avoids Stiles’ eye where he’s staring at him in frozen, wide eyed silence.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a state of awkward limbo, Scott and Brian oblivious to the silent exchanges happening between Stiles and Derek. Derek knows the confrontation is inevitable, his head forms words he’s fairly certain his mouth never will. Wonders if he should just throw Stiles a couple of thumbs up.

“So,” Stiles says, when they’re alone for the first time later that evening, Scott having gone to get the car. 

“So,” Derek agrees, crossing his arms over his chest, wanting and not wanting to sit down on the bed knowing what it’s seen.

“So,” Stiles agrees. Then silence. Then, “are you dating that guy?” and “so you obviously know?” at the same time. Then, “what?” In unison.

Stiles sighs long suffering and Derek leans against his desk. “Are you and… _Brian_ …” he says it like the word tastes bad in his mouth, “dating? Or just sleeping together?” Derek asks. Stiles stares at him incredulously.

“What? Why do you care?” Stiles asks, accusatory. Derek wants to pretend like he’s concerned, just a friend looking out for another, or a big brother looking out for his kid brother’s best friend. But he thinks about the way Stiles fucked himself on Brian’s cock and sobbed for it, fists clenched in the sheets, and Derek’s cock twitches at the same time the vein in his temple does.

Stiles is still staring at him.

“What are you even doing on that site anyway?” Stiles snaps, embarrassment obvious in the coloring of his cheeks. Derek’s emotions do a 180 and he stares at Stiles incredulously.

“What was I doing on a porn site?” Derek asks. “Looking for good knitting patterns.” Stiles opens his mouth to say something but it snaps shut and he looks contrite.

“Look, I’m eighteen,” Stiles says, “I can do what I want, so if this is your attempt at lecturing me or whatever you can forget it,” Stiles huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like a petulant toddler.

“That’s not what this is,” Derek tries.

“Then what is it?” Stiles asks. “Your attempt at humiliating me? Or—“

“ _No_ ,” Derek says, so adamantly Stiles looks taken aback. “That’s not—“ he huffs, opens his mouth when there’s a loud commotion in the hallway and Scott bursts in.

“Hey! You ready to go?” He asks, twirling the car keys on his finger.

“Yea,” Derek nods, no other choice. Stiles isn’t looking at him, moves to pull Scott into a goodbye hug, pats Derek on the shoulder half-heartedly while Scott watches expectantly. Derek gives him a lingering look at the door, like he’s trying to melt Stiles’ brain or convince him that this has all been a terrible misunderstanding and would he please post more fingering videos?

On the car ride home he drafts twelve texts he doesn’t send. Gets one that says _I don’t care what you think of me just don’t tell anyone, okay_?

And doesn’t feel any better about it; sends back _I wouldn’t do that_ in return. He wonders what Stiles thinks of him, to think that, then realizes how vulnerable this must make him feel. There’s a reason he never showed his face on camera. He feels bad suddenly, like he’d cornered Stiles, he guesses he did, saw something that wasn’t meant for him, even if it wasn’t on purpose. He wonders what he’d have done if he’d known it was Stiles back when he first stumbled across them. Would he have watched?

There’s a plan already half forming in his head by the time he makes the last leg of the trip back to Beacon Hills.

 

\--*--

He sets the camera up next to the bed, at a slight angle so he could hide his face if he wants but he’s not entirely sure yet. He’s naked when he hits record, half hard already from the thought of who’ll be watching this, and he had no idea he even _had_ anything bordering on an exhibitionist kink until he’s growing harder staring at the steady red glow on the camera.

He backs up a pace, sees his bare chest come into sharper focus on the viewfinder before he turns around and makes the short distance to the bed. He crawls up on it, wastes no time getting his legs spread under him, shuffling forward to brace himself on his forearms on the smooth sheets.

He wonders what he looks like as he trails his hand back, over the curve of his ass and spreads his cheek for the camera. But this isn’t for him. His face heats, burns with momentary uncertainty, like he’s gone live, before he hushes the quiet voice in his head down beneath the stronger one that sounds like Stiles right before he comes.

He lets out a soft, involuntary groan as he starts to finger at his hole, rubbing in consistent circles over his rim, letting his hips roll back until the tip slips in and catches on it. Derek sits up a little, reaches forward for the bottle of lube he has stashed by his pillow, reassumes the position, back arched, his hips thrust out and tilted now towards the camera.

He shivers slightly at the cold slick as he pours lube along his crack, feeling it slide down towards his hole and down his balls. He rubs his fingers in it, until they’re coated sticky with it and he can slip one in easy, hips hitching slightly at the breach.

He works in one, and then another, fingering himself in teasing, agonizingly slow thrusts until he’s whimpering against the sheets, his legs cramping from the tension wracked in his whole body. He lets himself go loose on a hard, deep thrust, fucking himself in bruising motions now, letting his hips do most of the work as he thrusts back, hips rolling, cock bobbing between his legs.

When he feels his orgasm building, he pulls his fingers out, rolls over on the bed, shuffling down slightly and tilting his hips up and his legs spreading out of the way. He arches his back as he grips at his cock in a tight fist, pumping himself, one hand wrapped tight around the base, stripping up and down in a frantic rhythm.

His moans grow higher and higher as he gets closer, and he closes his eyes, lets his mouth fall open, pictures Stiles’ slender hands on him instead of his broader ones, he has Stiles’ name on his lips when he finally comes, pumping hot across his chest, catching on the stubble along his jaw.

He collapses against the sheets and stays that way for a long time.

 

\--*--

Stiles is a bag of mixed emotions. There’s anger at Derek’s stupid face, and humiliation at Derek’s stupid face, and a lot of horny at the fact that Derek clearly watches gay porn…that Derek clearly has watched _his_ gay porn, and “holy fuck knuckles Derek watched my gay porn!”

Later that night, Stiles logs in as Redhood and stares at his account profile, wondering what to do with it. Part of him thinks about deleting any and all evidence but he _likes_ what he does. He likes reading the comments and seeing that he’s in high enough demand to have people begging him to get an actual _agent_. A _porn_ agent. For _porn_.

He twirls absently in his chair when he sees he has a message. It isn’t that unusual, but most of them he deletes right away because _creepy_ , but this one has a video attached entitled ‘Response:FYEO’ which Stiles supposes means ‘for your eyes only’ by user BigBad87 He’s intrigued. Settling back into his desk chair he hits play, watches with interest as the camera comes to life on the naked chest of a broad shouldered man. The man shuffles backwards, into better light and Stiles appreciates his musculature, a little more than toned but not too big.

The guy turns around then and Stiles sucks in a breath because _damn_ that is a nice ass. It’s the kind of ass he imagines Derek has, and that’s when Stiles’ focus is drawn sharply up towards the man’s broad shoulders, naked back, and dark triskele tattoo.

Stiles’ eyes widen to the point of pain, he blinks in rapid succession and wonders how many men must have triskele tattoos and fuzzy butts. And then he’s watching the man in the video crawl up onto the bed, strong thighs spreading.

“hohmahgod.”

When Derek reaches back, spreads his cheeks, Stiles hits pause as hard as his heart is pounding. He glances at the clock in the corner of the screen and realizes his roommate won’t be back for hours. He stands up from the desk and locks the door, shuffling out his jeans on his way back. He turns his webcam on and angles it down towards where he’s flushed hard and leaking, peaking out of the slit in his boxers.

He shoves them down his thighs and hits record as he hits play.

 

This pattern continues for the next few months. They exchange videos on and off until Stiles returns home for summer vacation. They don’t talk about it, barely talk at all, actually. He has no idea what’s going to happen when he gets back to Beacon Hills.

Unfortunately, Stiles’ semester ends later than the rest of the pack, and when he arrives home and shows up at the loft he hears the bustle and loud voices that tells him he and Derek aren’t going to be alone anytime soon.

Stiles isn’t sure what he’s expecting, part of him thinks nothing will have changed (though it’d kill him, he thinks, if that were the case), but when Derek pulls open the door in nothing but a pair of worn in jeans and a soft grey henley, feet bare on the concrete floor, Stiles nearly whimpers, and Derek looks close to doing the same.

Stiles thinks it’s a real testament that he manages to keep his cool the whole day. He wonders if maybe he smelled like arousal enough throughout high school that it’s just a scent the wolves associate with him now. He’s pretty sure the boner he’s sporting every time Derek makes an excuse to get close should be obvious.

Maybe it is.

It’s late by the time the rest of the pack starts to collect their things and their significant others. Stiles wants to weep with joy when they begin herding themselves towards the door. He hangs back on the pretense of having to use the bathroom before he leaves, and Scott claps him on the back in a hug and Stiles holds his pelvis as far away as he can manage without looking suspicious.

Stiles idles by the couch while Derek waves his guests goodbye, and when the door to the loft closes finally, the clank of the metal sounds like an affirmation. Derek turns slowly and stares at Stiles for a long minute. Stiles wets his lips, suddenly uncertain. He stands up a little straighter, cock twitching in his jeans, and Derek’s gaze drops to it, and, like it’s the confirmation he’s been waiting for, he steps forward and halves the distance between them with preternatural speed.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles nods in quick agreement as they crash together, Stiles’ hands coming up to cup roughly at Derek’s face, Derek’s own wrapping themselves around Stiles’ waist and forcing him back towards the couch as they kiss heatedly.

Derek has Stiles’ pants unzipped and halfway down his thighs by the time the backs of his knees hit the arm of the couch and he tumbles backwards, sprawled across the cushions, staring up at Derek with open want. “The live show is so much better,” Stiles nods, watching Derek strip off his henley.

“I’m enjoying the audience participation, personally,” Derek smirks, and Stiles bites his lip right before Derek grips the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs and tugs them the rest of the way down Stiles’ thighs and off, his mouth falling open in a surprised, pleased moan.

 

When they’re naked, Derek gets Stiles’ head pillowed on his forearm, sucks his own fingers into his mouth until they’re dripping with saliva, Stiles watching rapt fascination while one hand jerks Derek off slowly. He watches Derek’s hand slip between them and he arches his back up off the couch and spreads his legs wider, giving Derek more access. Derek fingers him open, Stiles fucking down with rolls of his hips and choked off groans as Derek’s tongue licks at his nipples, teeth nipping bruises on his chest.

Soon, too soon, Stiles feels his orgasm building and he pulls off of Derek’s relentless fingers, gets himself under control while they move to the bed, Stiles kneeling on a pillow on the floor while he sucks Derek off, swallowing down the length of him. Derek struggles to stay upright enough to watch, his fingers buried in the strands of Stiles’ hair and tugging him forward, fucking his face until his throat flutters around Derek’s dick.

Eventually, they make it the main event, Stiles’ arms clutching at Derek’s shoulders, knees braced on either side of him, gripping his cock from behind and teasing himself and Derek with it, brushing the tip over his hole before Derek is thrusting up impatiently. Stiles smirks down at him a little wicked before he sits, letting Derek slide inside, until he’s seated fully on his lap, mouth open, face frozen on the cusp between pleasure and pain, waiting for the burn to subside.

When it does, he moves. Derek’s hands span his waist, catch on his hip bones like grips as he helps Stiles sit up and down, fucking up into him on every downward thrust of Stiles’ hips until they’re both slick with sweat and keening.

Stiles’ hands pinch at Derek’s nipples, scratch down his chest, he lowers his face to suck bruising kisses into his neck while Derek tilts for better access and never stops the way his hips piston into Stiles’. Not until he starts to slow, thrusts going deep in the way that Stiles recognizes that he’s close.

Stiles is closer, and he comes with a shout buried in the crook of Derek’s neck, Derek’s hand jerking him through it where he spills between them. Derek stops moving, waits until Stiles’ pants slow only just so before he flips them, spreads Stiles out on the bed and pushes his legs out of the way, lays himself out over Stiles, hands holding his face more gently than Stiles would have expected, stark contrast to the way he moves, pounding into him relentlessly.

Derek’s face is amazing when he comes. Seriously the best ‘O’ face Stiles has ever experienced, he wants to hire professional painters to capture that face forever, he thinks, before realizing he has about 60 screencaps of it saved on his hard drive somewhere.

It’s so much better in person.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees.

“Are you telepathic?” Stiles asks, blissed out and confused.

“No,” Derek says, laughing with a breathy huff. “You’re just mouthy when you come.”

“I’m mouthy all the time,” Stiles argues.

“S’why I like when it’s filled with cock,” Derek tells him. Stiles laughs as Derek collapses against him.

“Me too,” Stiles agrees, grinning. Derek’s face sobers slightly, and Stiles shifts to see him better, before Derek’s kissing him again. It’s different this time, slower, more desperate somehow.

“So…Big bad, huh?” Stiles asks, after a long moment of silence in the dark of the quiet loft.

“Big Bad Wolf,” Derek explains, and Stiles can’t see him but he’s pretty sure Derek is flushing. Stiles laughs. “Whatever, _red hood_ ,” he scoffs, “pretend like it’s because you’re a Batman fan, we all know the truth.” Derek huffs, and tries to turn over onto his other side and Stiles laughs, rolls with him, until they’re facing each other again on opposite sides of the bed. Derek closes his eyes and pretends to sleep, and Stiles leans forward, kisses him on the nose, and follows.


End file.
